


Walking Through the Clouds (And You Never Ask Me Why)

by misura



Category: Zombie Powder
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>C.T. Smith's first impression of Gamma Akutabi was that he was an arrogant little snot.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Through the Clouds (And You Never Ask Me Why)

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted July 2008

C.T. Smith's first impression of Gamma Akutabi was that he was an arrogant little snot.

"Gimme all your money!"

Bored with the hotel and its lack of interesting guests, and sadly aware of the lack of places where one might enjoy a good cup of tea, Smith had decided to go 'sight-seeing'.

"Shouldn't that be 'give _us_ all your money'?"

The receptionist of the hotel had even been so kind as to draw him a map, glowingly recommending he went to admire the mill - well over a hundred years old, yet still fully functional.

"Huh?"

Evidently, he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere.

"He means there's three of us, you moron!"

Smith didn't really have any compunctions about killing children, but he disliked wasting bullets on unimportant matters and it was fairly clear to him he had little to gain by killing three kids with delusions of being dangerous. They might one day grow up to be _adults_ with delusions of being dangerous, if they were lucky and if they learned to use their brains (unlikely, Smith thought) yet that, too, was no concern of his.

"Hey! You didn't have to kick me so hard!"

"I can kick you as hard as I want to!"

Smith cleared his throat.

"Says who? I'm the one the boss said could carry the money! That means you gotta do whatever I tell you to do! So - ouch!"

"Idiot."

"Shall I just leave the three of you to it, then?" Smith asked.

"You!" Red eyes - a rarity, Smith reflected, assuming it was their natural color. "Don't go anywhere. You're being robbed. You - " Another kick was delivered to Gamma's unfortunate victim. "Stop whining!"

"I'm afraid I have little of value except these," Smith said, drawing his two guns.

Most people went around carrying some sort of weapon, and guns were by far the most popular. Smith didn't count on the sight of one (or two, as was the case) scaring off three wannabe-muggers.

A gun by itself was not a sight to scare any child. Any effective threat, therefore, had to come from the man holding it.

"That's okay; we'll take 'em," said Gamma.

Over the past years, Smith had practiced (and almost perfected) two things. The first was his marksmanship. The second was a certain kind of smile.

The smile was what people tended to notice first and in most cases, it spared Smith having to demonstrate his ability to hit any target at any distance, moving or not. He took a modest kind of pride in that smile. It tended to make his life that teensy little bit easier.

"G-gamma ... "

"What?"

"I d-don't think th-that's a v-very g-good idea."

"Why not? We can sell them." Gamma looked at the guns in Smith's hands and frowned. Smith wondered if he'd notice the safeties on both guns were off. In theory, Smith could shoot any time he wanted. "They don't look like much, but it's better than nothing. Besides - hey!"

Both of Gamma's companions seemed to suddenly have remembered urgent business they had to attend to at the other side of town.

Gamma grumbled something, then turned back to Smith.

"Would you like to have a drink somewhere with me?" Smith asked brightly, putting up his guns.

 

"Disgusting," Gamma pronounced, glaring at the liquid in his cup.

"Isn't it?" agreed Smith. "I keep hoping they'll stop producing that taste, but no luck so far." He sighed, taking a sip of his own cup.

Gamma redirected his glare at Smith. "If you don't like it, why do you drink it?"

"Oh, I don't," Smith assured him. "Mine's blackberry - or mint, I've forgotten which. It's quite nice though. Nothing like a nice cup of tea to start your day with."

"It's in the middle of the afternoon," Gamma pointed out coldly.

"Tea's nice any time of the day. Unless it's apple tea."

"Why'd you give me some kind of tea you don't even like yourself?"

"Well, I thought _you_ might like it," Smith said.

"I don't," said Gamma. "Why don't you let me try some of yours?"

Smith shook his head. "If you don't like apple-tea, you probably won't like any other kind of tea either."

The time Gamma spent sputtering was just enough for Smith to finish his tea.

 

"C.T.?" Gamma asked.

Smith nodded, waited for the inevitable. Amazing, really, how many people seemed to know about what those two initials stood for - especially given how many of them he'd killed already. There always seemed to be more though, no matter where he went.

"As in: Conr-ARGH?"

Smith summoned a faint smile. "They usually don't get the time for that last part." He prefered his kills to be quick and clean - it prevented messiness and the occasional unpleasant surprise of finding out a dying man could still make a nuisance of himself.

"Hm." Gamma appeared unimpressed.

"Will you get in trouble for letting me keep my guns?"

For a moment, he thought Gamma was going to force him to apologize to his landlord and leave an extra tip for the cleaning lady.

"Naw," said Gamma. "I'm leaving this place tomorrow morning anyway."

"Indeed." Smith didn't quite make it a question.

Gamma glowered at him. "I want to be a swordsman, and nobody in this town even knows where to find a proper sword, let alone how to handle one."

"An unusual choice," Smith murmured. "If you don't snore, you may sleep on the couch for tonight."

 

"Just keep on this road until you reach Leansbury and then head north ... or was it west? Oh well, either of the two, I'm sure," Smith said cheerfully.

"Thanks a lot," Gamma grumbled.

"Glad to help." Smith almost meant it, too, he was faintly surprised to notice. There was something about Gamma that reminded him of ... someone whose name he prefered not to think about. "Although there's a good chance you won't survive the training, if you get there."

"Yeah, well, that's my problem, isn't it?" Gamma hesitated. "So ... can I ask you something?"

Smith shrugged. "You can always ask. I'll shoot you if I don't like the question."

" _Try_ to shoot me," Gamma corrected. "Why?"

"Why?" Smith repeated.

"Why did you ... do what you did?"

"No reason. Why do you want to become a swordsman when everyone else carries guns?"

Gamma grinned. "No reason," he said.

"Touché." Smith tipped his hat. "Well, should you still be alive when you decide you've had enough of studying, do come and visit me."

"I will. Give me four years."

Smith raised one eyebrow. "In four years, you won't have gotten very far."

Gamma's grin widened. "Just wait and see," he said.


End file.
